Of Thievery and Starships
by espergirl04
Summary: AU. Highwayman, sailor, and laborer.  John/Teyla.


AU. Inspired by Highwayman by Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Kris Kirstoffen. Lyrics in italics.

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or the characters. And I certainly don't own the lyrics.

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><p><em>I was a highway man, along the coach roads I did ride…the bastards hung me in the spring, but I am still alive…<em>

Robbing a coach was something that he'd done so often that he'd thought he'd seen it all. Women who screamed, men who begged, people who fought, soldiers with bayonets that needed dodging. But this was a first.

"I will give you one chance to drop your gun before I drop you." She was sitting calmly with one of those little pearl handled guns pointed at him. Her mistress on the other hand was curled up on the far side with her skirts all up around her knees and sheer terror on her face. His gaze focused once more on the one threatening him. Her eyes locked on his. "Please do not think that I will not follow through with my threats."

"More than you can say for the driver," John commented.

The woman pursed her lips. "Rodney has not seen the things that I have seen."

He didn't doubt it. "You ever kill a man before?"

"Yes," she replied calmly.

He could see it in her dark eyes that there was truth to the statement. With her toffee skin and exquisite, exotic features he could only guess as to what had happened. "Look miss, I don't want any killing today. Just hand over anything of value and then we can all move on."

The girl who had been silent up until that point spoke. "Teyla, maybe we should just do what he says."

Teyla didn't spare a glance. "I will not give in to a thief."

"I think your friend…"

"Jennifer," the girl supplied, voice quivering.

"I think that Jennifer is right. Just do what I say and we can all—"

Well, she was fast. He was on the ground clutching extremely sore ribs and his gun was lying in the dirt and Teyla was standing over him. "What the hell."

"I did suggest that you should move on."

She hadn't fired her weapon. No, she had used some dirty technique that she had to have picked up in a saloon fight or something. But he knew that her smirk would soon be wiped off her face and sure enough it fell into something close to fear. That was quickly replaced by stone cold resolve.

"Need some help, Colonel?" a voice grunted from above. John grimaced at the nickname. They weren't soldiers anymore, hadn't been for a long time.

"Took you long enough." He picked himself up off the ground and looked up at his hulking companion. "You were just waiting for that to happen, weren't you."

Ronon shrugged. "Couldn't help it."

They got what they came for. He had tied Teyla up and she had cursed his name as Jennifer handed over all of her jewelry. Then he and Ronon had gone through the trunks and taken anything of value.

"Miss," John said as he began to loosen her restraints, "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"I wish that I could say the same," she snapped.

John and Ronon exchanged glances. "Why don't you come with us?"

Her eyes narrowed and for a moment he was sure she was going to spit in his face. The ropes still around her hands were preventing her from slapping him. "There is no honor in preying upon people and taking what is not rightfully yours."

He leaned in, one hand braced on either side of her against the wooden coach. "And what honor is there in being a slave to a wealthy family who got their money through the blood of you and your people and not through their own hard work."

She didn't flinch. "It is not like that. I am charged with watching Jennifer and I will not abandon her."

John shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you want to pamper her and make her useless like everyone else has…"

He and Ronon headed into the woods and slung their packs over the waiting horses. He had already mounted and was preparing to ride when he heard her voice. "Mister…"

"John Sheppard," he replied.

He could see the emotions wrestling in her face. "Mr. Sheppard," she reached a hand up and he helped to pull her up behind him. "I have decided to accompany you."

As the noose was slipped around his neck he managed to pick her out of the crowd. He was glad she'd managed to get away without the soldiers seeing her face. John tightened his grip on the tintype photo of her that he held in his hand. Years ago he had pulled it out of a trunk and had kept it on him ever since.

_I was a sailor, I was born upon the tide, with the sea I did abide…I went aloft and furled the mainsail in a blow…and when the yards broke off they said that I got killed but I am livin' still…_

"There will be a storm tonight." Her voice was soft and coming out of the shadows it made him jump.

"How can you tell?" She always seemed to be able to sense those kinds of things.

Teyla's approach was silent; she was barefoot as she usually was and she had changed from the men's breeches and coarse shirts that they had given her into one of her own outfits. The slit skirt and top exposed dark skin. He preferred her in her own clothes.

He could still remember when they first met. The ship had needed repairs and so they'd come ashore on the nearest land they could find. They'd been cautious, not knowing what to expect with the natives, but they'd been greeted by playing children who had led them to the village.

The ship's Captain had mistaken the man, Halling, as the Chief but John had been able to tell the Captain's mistake as soon as she had entered the room. With the paint smeared across her skin in preparation for a hunt and the wild tangles of her hair he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her. He'd never seen a woman like that before and it made him think back to his years of classic Greek tutelage and the Amazons.

Teyla was an Amazon. They'd been lucky to convince her to come along with them.

She looked at him, "Surely you must know that I am witch. I read it in the bones this morning." Her voice didn't have a hint of irony. Impressive.

He nudged her with his shoulder. "I'm not that gullible."

"Bates suspects me," she sounded annoyed.

John snorted. "Of witchcraft? I wouldn't put it past him." He straightened and turned so his back was against the rail. "So how can you tell?"

"Surely after so many years at seas you have learned to sense these things? To read the signs?"

He couldn't say that he had. Then again he hadn't ever really tried to. They had Rodney McKay, scientist, for those things. "McKay said the same thing, about there being a storm." He grinned, "Read it in his fancy instruments."

Her arms slid around his waist and he breathed in the spicy smell that she always carried. He had been engaged to married before he left home. A girl named Nancy from a family that was as well off as his. She had been all corset and petticoats and heeled leather shoes. Teyla was free and wild and untamed.

He had already broken off his engagement with a letter to Nancy before Teyla had ever stepped aboard the ship. All thoughts of her and any lingering guilt had been erased the first time Teyla's lips had touched his. "You're sure you don't want to marry me?"

Teyla ran her fingers down his chest and he groaned. "I love you John Sheppard. And for me that is enough."

"Then I guess it'll have to be enough for me."

When they found his body after the storm, Teyla did not weep, for her people understood that death was a part of life. When Doctor Beckett handed her the ring that had been found in his pocket, she wept for a life that could have been hers.

_I was a dam builder across the river deep and wide, where steel and water did collide…I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below, they buried me in that great tomb…but I am still around…_

It was miserably hot. "I think I'm going to die of heatstroke," he muttered.

"You are not the only one," Teyla responded from her perch. The wide brim of her hat covered her face.

It was miserable work. Miserable and never ending. He moved until he was next to her and he took a seat. "Should have never come out here," he said.

"I did not have a choice. There were no other jobs to be found for me." She gave him a suspicious look, "Why you ever decided to do this I do not know."

There were a few reasons. "I wanted to prove that I could make it on my own, I guess."

She shook her head. "If my father was one of the wealthiest men in the nation I do not believe that I would choose to spend my time doing manual labor."

"Trust me, you might if your other choice was to work for him." He and his father had never been particularly close and when John had declared that he would not be going into his father's business and was going to move out West the man's blood pressure had practically shot through the roof. "Jumped on a train and that was it."

"What did you do before this?" she asked.

John looked over at her. She looked somewhat boyish in the trousers and loose shirt that she was sporting. "Odd jobs. Moonshiner, ranch hand, that sort of thing."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Moonshiner?"

"Mainly a runner. Got to drive fast down mountain roads. Can't get better than that." He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, unruly hair stuck up at odd angles. "What about you?" Then he continued with, "Wait, don't tell me. Singer. You're always humming or singing something."

She shook her head and laughed. It was a nice sound. Better than the incessant sound of hammers on steel. "No. Flapper."

An image of her in tassels and sequins and pearls doing the Charleston entered his mind. He wished he could have seen her then. "How did you go from being a flapper to working on a dam?"

Her face hardened slightly and for a moment he expected her to change the subjects. He'd noticed that she wasn't exactly forthcoming with her feelings, neither was he. But she answered and it wasn't what he was expecting. "My husband owned the club until he was killed by a man named Michael Kenmore." She looked away. "I was left with nothing."

"I'm sorry." They were silent for a moment. "Maybe we should get back to work. Why don't you sing something?"

When his foot slipped and he felt himself falling. It was her song that he heard.

_I fly a starship 'cross the universe divide, and when I reach the other side, I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can…_

He made the choice to go back. He could have stayed on Earth and continued to go on missions with his team. He knew that if he stayed, Teyla and Torren would have stayed with him.

But he had been given the option of going back and he could tell that it was what Teyla wanted.

Maybe they would stay in Pegasus. Maybe one day they would return to Earth.

He wasn't sure yet, but at the moment he felt like he was home.


End file.
